O'er my Angel-guarded bed，
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.
Troubled， 'wilder'd， and forlorn，
Dark， benighted， travel-worn，
Over many a tangled spray，
All heart-broke I heard her say：
`O， my children！ do they cry？
Do they hear their father sigh？
Now they look abroad to see：
Now return and weep for me.'
Pitying， I dropp'd a tear；
But I saw a glow-worm near，
Who replied： `What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night？
`I am set to light the ground，
While the beetle goes his round：
Follow now the beetle's hum；
Little wanderer， hie thee home.'